Everything is good and nothing hurts
by TrustFalls
Summary: A collection of snapshots from the pre Blue Bird episodes (set in season 6)/ And she's bored or annoyed or insecure or something else; and maybe his answer is crucial and maybe this is unimportant small talk. The truth is, however, he has no idea.


**A/N: This is my take on the events pre Blue Bird and something I've been working on for a long time now (and, to be honest: knowing that I won't be working on it tomorrow still feels wired). It's pretty much a collection of snapshots from those episodes, and they are not in chronological order.**

 **Thanks : To my super-helpful betareader, scriiibble**

 **And to everybody who is giving this a try, despite the length. It means a lot.**

 **Sources : The quoted song is „All or nothing" by Frank Hamilton (and I was inspired by that particular line). The definitions are from a page called the-crossword-solver and, of course, you'll find lots of quotes and moments from the show in this one.**

 **Timeframe: Between "Violets" and "Black Hearts"**

* * *

" _ **We learned that lovers love to sing**_

 _ **And that losers love to cling**_

 _ **Didn't we?"**_

 _[Damien Rice: The Greatest Bastard]_

* * *

 ** _Foreword, for short, five letter word: INTRO_**

 _There is a similarity between words that were not said and letters that got lost on their way:_

 _The person they were meant for never had them._

* * *

 **Sound receiver, five letter word: RADIO**

" _I'm a walking crossword,"_ it says on the car radio, " _but half the answers are wrong."_

Lisbon rolls her eyes, changing the channel and, after a few seconds of the news, she turns it off completely.

Sometimes, all she wants is a little simplicity and silence and really, she won't let a silly song ruin her mood.

And just as a little side note: she's definitely not a walking crossword (what's that supposed to mean anyway?).

* * *

 **Guard duty, five letter word: WATCH**

There is that clean-cut moment when Jane has to face the painful, suffocating truth: he can cover his anxiety all he likes, but it won't vanish on its own.

He has every reason to be anxious.

For the water is murky, things go wrong and Marcus Pike is becoming a constant in Lisbon's life.

An influential constant, that is.

Jane becomes conscious of the mess they are in at the crime scene (well, of course he does). A bomb exploded, the street bristles with the usual suspects **;** he is there on time and Lisbon is late.

It's wrong. Normal people are sometimes late, but Lisbon isn't normal and she is never late.

She's always clock-like, it's one of those things that are set in stone.

So Jane waits for her. Five minutes, seven minutes, thirteen minutes (a hundred years).

Until, finally, she is walking towards him. She has arrived by taxi and he can do the math.

Jane taps his watch.

"Cap to a crime scene?," he tries to mock her because that's another set-in-stone-thing, but this time his tongue feels strange; bulky and unfamiliar "That's very cosmopolitan of you."

"Oh, my car wouldn't start." It's supposed to be a casual remark, but she tenses up when making it and Jane's heart tightens.

She's such a terrible liar and this is such an obvious fabrication.

"Well, of course it wouldn't," he says, because it seems to be all that's left for him to say here. He forces himself to make inquiries about her past date with Pike, partly because a tiny part of him is still hoping to find soothing here and partly because he could give himself away if he didn't ask.

Mostly, he simply asks those questions to punish himself, and he is successful.

Obviously something new has been set in stone while he has been busy acting a three monkeys play, something like Patrick Jane doesn't get what he wants, just what he deserves.

* * *

 **Deep male voice, four letter word: BASS**

After the movie ended they are about to go and see Marcus's old band that happens to be playing a gig downtown. Lisbon tells him that she can't answer his question yet and Marcus wants her to take the time she needs and everything is warm and sweet and unexcited.

Until Jane calls for the second time. He needs backup, or, in other words: he needs her help. Now, at once, this second.

And Lisbon doesn't tell him to call APD or at least the office, instead she goes by the cab that was supposedto drive Marcus and her. It probably means no band, at least not today, but—

But Marcus understands.

"You need to trust me," Jane tells her, which used to be his code for "Great, there you are. By the way, I got us into the capital T kind of trouble and you need to fix it."

A tiny, annoying voice in her head insists on contradicting, on reminding her and him that they are no longer in California and that actually she does not _need_ to trust him. Not in this world, not in the way she used to, not blind, not anymore.

But this is how it is: tiny voices and reason are neither here nor there, for Lisbon trusts Jane. She has been trusting him with so much for so long, she wouldn't know how to stop even if she wanted to.

Because she's an idiot and because some things never change.

* * *

 **Running behind, four letter word: LATE**

The elevator doors open in front of Jane and Lisbon is there. She has a notepad in her hand and is obviously on her way out.

"Morning, Jane." She stops and looks meaningfully at the wall clock, "So, you've finally found your way here. Does that mean I can tell Wylie to call off the search party?"

Her eyes are full of mischief and Jane gives her his most dazzling smile. "And a lovely morning to you, too, Lisbon."

In an ideal world she would smile back, it would be a real, bright smile, they would talk about everything and be like they have always been.

But in the real world, they have lost their rhythm. Brittle smiles and careful conversations, that's how they are these days. Because they are fragile now, because they have changed.

Because time has become their enemy.

"So? What's been keeping you?" Lisbon asks, this time without any ease in her voice.

He shrugs "Oh, nothing, really. Nobody called, so I figured you guys were fine without me. I took a stroll, stretched my legs a little, got some fresh air."

It's not a real lie and it's not the real truth and it's all he has to offer.

"But now, I am reporting for duty."

He gives her a mock salute.

The way Lisbon titles her head and the little twitch in the corner of her mouth tells him that she is still figuring out whether she's amused or annoyed with him and Jane decides to make the decision for her.

He snatches the paper away from her hand.

"Timberwood Park," he reads "That's a long drive, isn't it?"

"Yeah, long but necessary. The grandmother wouldn't talk on the phone, so I'm heading there personally now. I'm sure she's hiding something," she says, using her what's-your-point-Jane voice "Meaning I gotta go now, before I get stuck in traffic."

She holds out her hand.

Jane's throat suddenly feels constricted.

"Jane? The address? Now?"

There has to be something he can come up with, he thinks, something smooth and nonchalant, something like—

"Just take me with you, Lisbon" he blurts out. And the words come out the wrong way, too hoarse, too urgent to be the kind of empty talk they were meant to be.

Lisbon hesitates.

"Jane—"

"Oh, come on. We're going to solve that case and it might be fun. We're still having fun, right?"

Her face softens.

"Yeah, we do," she says and he tries hard to ignore that hint of wistfulness in her voice. "Come on, let's solve this one."

So they head out together and they solve that case.

Just like back in the old days.

* * *

 **In those days, four letter word: THEN**

"I don't need to be saved," Lisbon had told him years and years ago, in a different life.

And she's probably been wrong and she's probably been right then, but one thing hasn't changed in all the time:

The answer he never gave is still the same, the "But I'd love to do it anyway."

* * *

 **Play for a fool, four letter word: SCAM**

There are two things Lisbon is completely certain about: The grand jury is about to indict Jane for murdering Red John and she won't let that happen.

Fisher and her, they make it back from the airport in record time. On the way back from Dallas she has barely said a word, completely captivated by her own racing thoughts.

She's been devising sketches of a battle plan for which she will fight tooth and nail. This time, she _will_ save him.

First, she'll make sure that the bosses are on board, they'll call in favors and eventually involve the media. Jane definitely won't like that part, but she'll convince him that they can't afford to be selective here. And then—

And then, then she storms into Abbott's office.

Jane is there, all ensconced and reading one of his books.

And Lisbon sees all clear.

"It wasn't a con," he pleads, minutes later when he has finally noticed that not everybody has been having as much fun as he is.

(Big surprise, huh?)

"I don't care," she bursts out, "You should have told me. I thought that you…"

She doesn't finish that sentence.

There's so much (too much, probably) on the tip of her tongue; years, hurt feelings, reproaches and things of an entirely different matter—and even in this moment, Lisbon is aware that some words have to be left unsaid.

For they could lead too far away, to ground that is anything but solid and to places she doesn't even want to go to.

This is what she could say: _You're the one who always knows everything, so why didn't you waste a second on me and my fears?_

Or something like this: _Do you have any idea how long nightmares of such a moment have been keeping me company?_

("So how was your week?")

Or maybe this: _Tell me, when have we stopped being partners?_

Or she could throw all caution to the wind and keep it simple and true: _I thought I'd lose you, this time for good, you jerk._

Of course, a small, reasonable part of Lisbon knows that she is overreacting, that she has herself to blame, for not challenging the whole story in the first place, for being naïve and for falling for a charade. This voice of reason insists on reminding her that they've gone through with far worse plans in the past and that catching dirty jurors is definitely worth the trouble. That the plan wouldn't have worked if she had been in the picture from the start.

And the worst of them all: hadn't he left her in the dark often enough before?

(Did she really expect him to have changed?)

It's hard to apply reason because the other part of her is so much louder, the part that is angry and hurt and betrayed, the one that can't let his explanation stand.

"Oh, you picked a great time to start following orders," Lisbon resorts to sarcasm. This is a just accusation; this is—

Marcus.

Marcus, who is picking her up for lunch.

He hasn't the faintest idea why she is so furious and what her point is, but he is sympathetic and kind and later he will help her to come round again. Later, Lisbon will assure him that she will apologize to Jane for overreacting, that she will swallow her anger for the sake of their working atmosphere.

Later, Lisbon will try to repress these moments, her feelings and how it's possible that she forgot Marcus even exists, all the way back from Dallas.

* * *

 **Liars undoing, five letter word: TRUTH**

Fools and worse don't deserve the sleep of the just, so Jane has to kill a part of these supposed sleeping hours in a different way. That's why sometimes he goes for walks. Long, aimless ones, far into the night until he either ends up at his couch back at the office or in his uninviting bed in the air stream.

It has the advantage that he is probably familiar with every good food truck, café and diner in what feels like a ten-mile radius around the HQ.

Advantages tend to team up with disadvantages and this one is no exception from that rule: He is alone with his thoughts, he has plenty of time to think.

About Lisbon and everything else.

He likes to pretend that everything could be bearable if he knew that he is doing the right thing.

Which is a cheapish thought, the come down of a great mind, Jane's got to admit that.

 _("So now you have a great mind?")_

This is the way it is: for most of his life, he has been pursuing some kind of goal. There has always been something he wanted or needed and he has simply deployed all of his skills to get it.

And he has rarely failed.

It's different now and that's confusing and paralyzing.

Of course he knows what—or more precisely, whom—he wants, but he doesn't know how to get it.

 _If_ he can get it (again, more precisely, _her._ )

And, even worse: if he has a right to try.

In these hours, where he is almost honest with himself, he can acknowledge this: What he really longs for is an excuse to interfere.

If something was wrong with Pike, the decision would be made for him and everything would be so much easier.

The man could be somewhat dirty; putting on an act, still in love with that ex-wife of his, disloyal, corrupt or a drug addict—there is an endless list of possibilities.

In that case, there could be no hesitation. Jane would set the machine in motion and do what he always does: He would work out an elaborate plan, brilliant and bulletproof, and he would unearth the truth.

Lisbon would be saved and they would be how they've always been. There would be no risk and he wouldn't need to explain anything. No vulnerability, no coming undone. Just the status quo, and then subtlety and baby steps.

Unfortunately, the truth doesn't need to be unearthed. It's already out there, open to anybody who is able to face it:

Marcus Pike really is a good guy, there's no point in lying about that. He really cares about Lisbon and he makes her happy.

Hell, he can't even hate the man. All he can do is wish for different circumstances.

If only he hasn't everything to lose.

(If is probably the worlds dumbest word.)

Maybe, that doesn't get to core of the issue. Maybe it's something as simple as- if only they were different.

If he only was a match for Marcus Pike. If only the difference between them wasn't so striking.

If only he wasn't the coward that he is.

If only Lisbon—

Jane stops himself. Even simplicity is incorrect here, for he could never wish for a different Lisbon. He loves her because she is who she is. She means everything to him and he wants her to have everything she wants.

If he only knew the answers to the one question his world revolves around:

What does Teresa Lisbon want?

* * *

 **Forever and ever, six letter word: ALWAYS**

Fisher offers to wait for Jane.

"You guys always work together," she adds.

"Not always," Lisbon replies, because she feels she has to contradict and then, she buries herself in the photos, in search of the guy they are looking for.

Her colleague says nothing more.

Case closed.

(Sometimes, deniability is still her best friend.)

* * *

 **Of the usual kind, eight letter word: STANDARD**

The elevator is slow and in ten days Lisbon will leave Austin for good.

And of course, her personal deadline doesn't change the life she leads, that one goes without saying.

Bad guys keep coming and cases need closing—pretty much the same as it ever was and ever will be.

It's what brings her and Jane to a local news station on this particular day. A presenter nearly got burned to a crisp on air, and now they will find out who's responsible for that.

Another fruitless pressing of the button. She half expects Jane to mock her impatience, maybe romance about how the FBI will be sued for breaking that button, but he doesn't and Lisbon shoves her hands deep into her pockets, feeling uncomfortable.

A few more seconds lapse in silence.

"I hate dealing with media people," Lisbon finally says, because somebody has to say something. "They are always so—"

"Glib? Eccentric? Hard-boiled? Or maybe dressed to kill?" he suggests, being anything but helpful.

The elevator finally arrives. It's an older model, rather small and slow. Their faces are reflected in the steel and she meets her own, anxious eyes and Jane's blank look.

Lisbon forces a smile.

"No, not really. Occupationally secretive, something like that."

"Ahh, something like that."

The _"Like I am, sometimes,"_ goes unsaid and she hears it nevertheless.

(The same as it ever was, huh?)

Just four more floors to go. They are almost there.

For some odd reason, she feels she needs to get something straight here.

"I wasn't talking about you, you know?"

Jane flicks away a bit of fluff from his sleeve before he looks at her.

"Of course you weren't."

"I mean of course dealing with you was hard, at first." A shadow flits across his face, quickly replaced by a smile and she hastily continues. "It's just…I think you got reasonable, at least a little. And you changed. I changed. Maybe we changed together."

And because words are never right and this is way too complicated, she quickly adds something that is supposed to fix things.

"C'mon, sometimes you were a pain in the ass."

Her smile feels like a grimace and Jane makes it worse by answering:

"Fair enough. But just saying, I hope you know, that sometimes, I meant well."

The doors open. They are being awaited.

* * *

 **Face hider, four letter word: MASK**

For most of his life, Jane has been wearing a mask.

There has always been enough to hide, always a reason for dishonesty.

Greed. Guilt. Arrogance. Recklessness. Duplicity. True Intentions. Madness. Desperation. Fear. Dependence. It's a long, tedious list, far from being worth compiling.

But there is more, of course it is.

Shame. Remorse.

(But you can't let people see what's in your heart, right?)

Hope.

 _Love._

But now, at this stage of his life, Patrick Jane doesn't need to hide anything anymore. Everything is different now; his world is about fun and games. Everything is easy, colorful and controllable. No point in hiding anything from anybody and no point for anybody to expect anything from him that has depth.

Jackpot, time to let of fireworks and a shower of confetti.

At least that's what he needs people to believe.

The truth is a different matter. Some ( _many_ ) things have stayed the same. There is still a reason for dishonesty and maybe ( _certainly_ ) he has just replaced one mask with another.

The truth is: he's afraid. Being real would mean to give away control, to show the man under the rumpled-but-still-shiny surface, the one that is vulnerable and insecure and shattered.

The man that may be not enough.

At this stage of his life Patrick Jane is about to lose the one person who knows who he really is.

(The only person who has always known.)

* * *

 **Politely congratulate, ten letter word: COMPLIMENT**

It seems to be the right moment to tell Jane, so Lisbon does. About Marcus being there for her, about him asking her to go to DC with him.

She knows why she has been putting this conversation off for as long as possible, but apparently she shouldn't have bothered.

"Congratulations, I guess."

She doesn't know what she has been expecting to hear, not exactly at least.

( _"Deniability, Lisbon. Deniability. Your best friend.")_

Why doesn't he try to stop her, she wonders, why doesn't he try to give her a reason to stay?

She can think of two possible explanations:

The first is that he doesn't know how. But he is Jane, the silver-tongued one, so why wouldn't he have a word for her?

The second one, the one that is hard to swallow is, that he has said exactly what he wants to say: That it's all fine and dandy with him, that he has arranged himself with Austin and the FBI, that he is wishing her the same in her relationship and in her new life in DC.

That he is not upset and he won't miss her.

This possibility hurts in more ways than she can tell apart.

( _You being absent is the only thing that makes this new chapter strange and sad, huh?)_

It doesn't even matter what he has to say, she reminds herself, not at all. This has nothing to do with Patrick Jane, this is about Marcus and her, about the next step, about their relationship, their future and –

"I mean, if that's…if you are happy," he says, and she answers the one thing she can answer in this moment and this situation:

"Oh, I'm happy."

* * *

 **Cider's fruit base, five letter word: APPLE**

Jane strolls through the almost empty bullpen and ends up in front of Lisbon's desk.

"Look what I hunted down for you", he announces theatrically.

And of course, she doesn't respond to that, they have been there before after all. Instead, she keeps her eyes on her work, hurriedly filling in a form. If he doesn't look too closely, he can miss that her handwriting is a bit irregular, which either means that she's dashing off because she's got plans for the evening or that her thoughts are far, maybe even states away.

"Don't worry, it's not explosive, at least that's what I've been told. And more importantly, it's not even a surprise. I know you hate those."

"Jane—" she groans, and because he doesn't want to hear it, he interrupts her.

"It's just an apple. A harmless piece of fruit. Red delicious, to be precise. There, see. Just a little favor."

He holds it out to her.

Naturally, it all comes out the wrong way. As if it was meant to be a question, one that somehow ended up helpless and confused, like he hasn't chosen this particular apple because he knows it's her favorite sort and he just keeps talking as if it hasn't been painfully obvious before. "You know what they say about doctors and apples, right?" Jane adds, hiding behind a bright smile.

And if an apple a day would be enough to keep Marcus Pike away, he'd bury the other man in fruits. He could empty shops and plunder apple orchards, he could—

He could stop being an idiot, that is.

This is gallows humor and below; Jane is well aware of that, and yet he enjoys that picture a split second too long before he returns to the real world.

Finally, Lisbon gives in and looks up from her work.

And her eyes are green and wonderful but unfortunately a closed book. She draws a long breath, puts her pen aside and asks the wrong question:

"What, Jane? I mean—" she bites her lip and stops "Just, why?"

And she's bored or annoyed or insecure or something else; and maybe his answer is crucial and maybe this is unimportant small talk. The truth is, however, he has no idea.

(Talk about showing one's own shortcomings)

He doesn't know, that's what it all comes down to.

"Because I—"

Sometimes, pouring out his heart seems to be an option.

He could remind her of other times and other apples, or he could talk about that one particular time where he had promised Lisbon an apple and things had gotten out of hand, of their lives being in danger and they being a team and—what?

This is what he could say: _I know I'm late, but remember the apple you never got? Here it is._

Or something like this: _Because I want you to remember what we two have here. You and I, it's good, too, right?_

Or maybe this: _Because I care, because I pay attention, too._

Or he could simply stop being and idiot and keep it simple and true: _Because I want you to stay. Because I love you._

But this is what he really says: "Because you like red delicious."

"Good," Lisbon answers politely, turning back to her paperwork and for some reason, it feels like a door closing. "Thanks, Jane," she adds, but she doesn't look at him.

Jane leaves the apple on her desk anyway.

(There'll be another opportunity, right?)

* * *

 **Beach memento, five letter word: SHELL**

It just a tiny flaw, an insignificant and slightly awkward moment that takes place the first time Marcus picks Lisbon up from her place. Things at work have taken longer than planned so she hasn't changed yet, but that's no problem: She'll hurry and he'll wait in the living room.

Very good and very simple.

When she comes back, Marcus is standing in front of her bookshelf and he has picked up something.

The shell.

"It's awesome! But I gotta admit, I would never have pegged you as a souvenir-hunter, Teresa. Are you hiding more secrets of that sort?" He smiles affectionately at her.

"No, it's just..." She starts and for some reason she stops here, partly because she doesn't know how to finish that sentence and partly because her mouth suddenly feels dry and nothing seems simple anymore.

Lisbon could say a lot now.

She could tell him what she looked up: that this shell is called a Cypraea tigris, a tiger cowrie and that it can be found on beaches in the Indo-Pacific region, in Australia and Africa.

Or that it's really true what they say, that one can hear the sound of the ocean this shell came from when pressing it to the ear and listening close enough. (That she has done that a million times in two long years.)

Or that Jane sent it to her when he was gone forever.

She says none of these things.

"It's nothing, really," she finishes lamely and at the same time, Marcus offers another way out by promoting "A long, boring story?"

"Yeah," she is so grateful and he is a kind man and that makes it easy for her to smile at him now. "Exactly. A long, boring nothing."

They change the subject then and have a nice evening and the next time Marcus comes over, there is a little more room on that shelf.

Somehow, the shell has found its way into the box where Lisbon keeps all the other things she never thinks of.

(Because how could she possibly think of letters and fragments of a blue tea cup and a paper frog when everything is good?)

* * *

 **Opposite of sad, five letter word: HAPPY**

The case file grows hazy, it's almost time to go and Lisbon's recurring thoughts creep up on her.

People would probably say that she has had more luck than sense, she's well aware of that. If these imaginary folks were into that kind of stuff, they'd add that hers is a classical phoenix and ashes story.

A particularly nice one, because in her new life, she has a great job at the FBI _and_ she has met Marcus.

In other words: She is entirely happy. Happier then she has been in a long, long time. Marcus is a great guy, kind and attentive and…good. Good, that's probably the perfect word to describe him and their situation and, well everything.

She is entirely happy and nothing feels wrong, nothing hurts.

Okay, fine: Maybe not entirely, maybe there are things, little things, she hasn't fully internalized yet, little things like the fact that her world is in balance and everything is as it should be.

Like the fact that no matter how much effort she makes and how determined she is, sometimes her stupid, ungrateful heart refuses to play along.

So she's not bursting with joy or radiant with happiness, it's more a general state of content, a quiet bliss—and that's a good thing, she knows that.

(Because she is also never burning up with anger, she is never shut out or sick at heart and she is also never left behind or lied to.)

So maybe these extremes are not that desirable, maybe she is asking too much of life, maybe she's just being sentimental and irrational.

Maybe, most certainly.

It's better that way.

 _Yeah._

* * *

 ** _Be dishonest, in a way, three letter word: LIE_**

 _There are many different types of lies and reasons to tell them._

 _The come under the heading of hidden agendas; sometimes people mean well and sometimes they don't._

 _And this is the flaw all lies share: They are just not true._

* * *

 **Moroccan port, ten letter word: CASABLANCA**

"Let me know when you make a decision." Marcus says. "I'll be here."

Her heart doesn't feel big enough, it seems to flow with a strange mixture of fondness and gratefulness.

"Thank you," she says, because this means so much and it's all she can utter, even if it's not enough to express what's running in her heart.

Casablanca, (a movie which features a woman forced to choose between two men)ends up being the movie they don't watch, but there is an adequate replacement on another channel; a baseball game.

Jane's "I love that you're predictable" echoes in her head and Lisbon flinches away from it, from what it means, and what it could mean. Instead, she tries hard to focus on the game.

For she wants this, she wants this evening, she wants Marcus, she wants this life, she wants—

"Foul," Lisbon shouts, maybe a little too loudly.

Marcus strokes her hair gently.

It's hard to explain.

And even harder to accept.

* * *

 **Italian pastry, seven letter word: CANNOLI**

Not enough, and (far worse) too late.

At least he tried, Jane tells himself as he walks through the night, away from Lisbon's home and the dinner she is probably having with Pike right now. They won't have the Cannoli; the air smelled faintly of Pizza and it's breaking his heart.

He has finally acted and that should probably be of comfort to him, but it's not. Or if anything it is just the coldest kind of comfort, the one you find when walking away from a happy place you don't belong to.

So he has tried, he laid his cards on the table and has been as honest as he can and it hasn't been enough.

 _("Well, I tried."_ That's what Lisbon had told him years and years ago, when she tried to convince him to rethink becoming a CBI consultant. He had hugged her then.)

Of course not.

All he knows is that it hadn't gone as planned. Marcus Pike shouldn't have been there, but he had been and Jane was forced to improvise, for it's not like he had come with more than Cannoli and a plan that went far beyond eating with her and making some nostalgic remarks.

"I really want you to be happy. And that's the most important thing to me, that you do what makes you happy," he had told the truth for a change.

It's had been the truth, but not the complete one for there's no point in denying that he has been hoping, just maybe, just a little that it makes her happy to stay here with him.

And now it's only a matter of time till she makes her decision, it's probably too late already and Lisbon has decided to leave.

And—

But he can do this, Jane tells himself.

He can do this for her.

Be selflessness, for a change, be a good loser, and an even better friend (he definitely hasn't been one in the past).

He can play his part, grin and bear and watch her go, if that means that she'll be happy. The most important thing to do, the right thing to do, what he owes her after all these years and all the trouble and the pain he has coursed her.

It's all that's left for him to do, he sees that clearly.

He has many labels to offer. The one thing he doesn't know or see is how he is supposed to do this, because it's killing him already.

It's a long, long way back to his airstream.

* * *

 **Genteel affair, three letter word: TEA**

Lisbon brings tea and for good measure Jane pretends to be sleeping so that she has to wake him up. As if he feels like sleeping much these days, as if her steps approaching wouldn't be enough to wake him up, anywhere and anytime. She sits next to him on his couch and he finds himself holding his breath, because he knows that this is going to be important.

This could be their game changer, this is serious.

He has a slip of his tea. Orange blossom Oolong, his current favorite. It's fresh, hot and tastes perfect; apparently, Lisbon has waited the full two minutes for it to brew.

"Actually, you know what? I always did like that couch," she tells him.

So many things bubble up inside him; feelings he would like to pour into words; crazy, nervous, silly, hopeful, sentimental, loving words.

He doesn't say the first truth that comes to his mind ("Really? I had no idea. You should have told me before.") and he doesn't say the second ("Well, I wish this wasn't a couch but a magic carpet. If it was, I could whisk you away.") for this is neither the time nor the place for these words.

Instead he smiles and he waits.

They are close, close enough for him to smell her perfume. It's a delicate aroma and the top note is cinnamon, still.

Their feet nearly touch. (Does she notice that he is wearing the socks she gave him, Jane wonders.)

And Jane possesses himself in patience for this is her move and he will wait for anything she will tell him. He has to wait, and he has to pretend that it's not the hardest thing in the world to do it. Biofeedback allows him to breath, but it has seldom been harder.

Lisbon looks at him for a long, long moment. "Jane," she finally says.

This takes a lot of courage.

For a heartbeat, she is his, and nothing is too late and everything is good and she will stay and Pike will have to go to DC alone and—

Lisbon starts again, more urgent this time. "Jane."

And for a heartbeat, he has lost, lost, lost her for good and she will go away and Pike and her, they will live together happily in DC and—

And then, then her cell phone rings.

"Take your call, Lisbon." He says, because whatever she wanted to say, she won't say it now and because he is not a brave man.

Cell phones always ring at the wrong time and he can never find the right words when he needs to.

* * *

 **Half of a dancing duo, seven letter word: PARTNER**

At the end of a long day of staring into the abyss, Lisbon makes the decision she should have made a long time ago, the one she needs to make.

She's weary and exhausted, worse than she can remember. Many innocent girls have lost their lives over nothing but money, their deaths being nothing but routine. Jane's mad plan could easily have gone wrong and Abbott asked her point blank for the truth.

She told him an outright lie. _Yeah, surprise_. Of course she did, what else was she gonna do, but—

 _("But you're not a liar, Lisbon. You're an honest, good person with a long career ahead of you.")_

It's what she has done so many times in the past. The same thing she always does, the same thing she will always do if nothing changes.

But she is just so tired, she is so fed up with all this.

She simply can't go on like this. For a million reasons, her life can no longer be like this. She can't lay her head on the block for him forever, she can no longer hold back on her own wishes and needs and cravings.

Maybe she is being melodramatic. Maybe she is just seeing clearly. And actually, it doesn't even matter, because the facts are that simple: Something in her life has to change, she has to have more. Something has to be safe and comforting _._ It's what she wants, what she needs and maybe even what she deserves.

Which means that everything will have to change. Today, once and for all.

No more hanging around waiting. No going back, no more unsaid words, no more clinging to the past; just simplicity and clarity and finally moving on.

She tells Marcus.

He's over the moon and she can see that she has surprised him (but she will neither ask him nor question herself why that's the case. Sometimes, the truth seems too difficult to handle.)

And on top: he proposes.

Lisbon's stunned, but in a good way. It's…wow, so much, so fast and it's only natural that she needs time to think, and of course, Marcus understands (he always does).

(Strange, how she feels that she already knows everything about their life in DC.)

Marcus promises to wait for her in the lobby.

Jane's still on his couch, reading.

"We make a good team, sometimes," he tells her, and for some reason, it looks like he is hiding behind his book.

"Yeah, we do." In her head, there seems to be raging a whirlwind.

"I'll be here."

(Yeah, Lisbon thinks, but I won't. You ever thought of that or do you simply take me for granted?)

She finishes up in the ladies, letting cold water run over her hands.

It's silly, she knows, for she has done the right thing. She should feel lighter, full of excited anticipation and joy. She has made her decision and now, her future is about to start.

Everything is good.

But somehow, it's impossible to feel reasonable. Marcus's proposal, the life she will have—none of that seems to get through to her. Instead, all she can think of is that soon, Jane and her, they'll wish each other good night for the last time, knowing that there'll be no next meeting.

At least not the way it used to be.

Of course, they'll meet each other again, then, there. DC is not on a different planet, they still share friends, Ben and Maddie's birthday's will be celebrated, there'll be awkward Christmas cards and birthday texts, but—

But they can no longer be the way they used to be, they will need to change.

She casts a defiant glance at her mirror image and turns the tap off. Marcus has waited long enough for her.

Change is a good thing, right?

(It has to be.)

* * *

 **Cops crooks-catching hoax, five letter word: STING**

Their misunderstanding has been weighing heavily on his mind and Jane has been racking his brain for the better part of the day and whilst driving to the restaurant in search of the right words. He has made up a few little speeches that are supposed to reconcile Lisbon with him, starting with trying to explain how he could be so stupid, showing that his remorse is deep and real, and ending with promising her not to scare her again like that (or at least not to be so reckless).

And then, they sit down and Lisbon apologizes. Polite and civilized, she owes him an apology, she says, for overreacting, orders are orders, that's how she puts it now.

It's the least thing he wants to hear and it hurts.

Because as absurd as it sounds, there has always been something comforting in Lisbons anger. Her anger wasn't rooted in the job; she was angry at Patrick Jane, and that means that she still worries, that she still cares.

Her anger made him hope that maybe, maybe she doesn't consider _them_ finished yet, that there is still something he can do to make this right.

It's obvious where this reversal of opinion stems from and Jane has never been closer to hating Marcus Pike. For being so sympathetic instead of simply hostile, for understanding nothing, for interfering—

 _Since when is my star-crossed stupidness any of Marcus Pikes goddamn business,_ he wants to ask, but he manages to keep his tongue under control and most of his poor polemic to himself, because he doesn't want to provoke a new quarrel and because the answer is staring him in the face: As her boyfriend Lisbon's well-being is his business, it's that simple.

Jane wreaks havoc with all his carefully worded speeches and apologizes. A thaw and everything is in apple-pie order, at least for a moment, at least between the two of them.

Then, his tongue gets the better of him, once more and later, he has no idea how this happened.

"I love that you're predictable," another lie, another idiotic coffin nail.

For once, he has said one right word, but since all the other ones keeping it company are the wrong ones, he can't give himself great credit for it.

Or blame Lisbon for taking it the wrong way.

"Just what a girl wants to hear," she jibes.

"What does a girl wanna hear?"

 _(Tell me, tell me)_

She doesn't know and that makes two of them.

 _(How about this: I'm sorry for scaring you. I lied, I can't predict you, I love everything about you. Please don't leave me.)_

A long silent, wordlessness moment is interrupted by the waiter.

But at least the wine is good and later, he is even able to steal a forkful of Lisbon's fish. She rolls her eyes at him, but when returning from the restroom, he notices that a little piece of chicken is missing from his plate.

* * *

 **The time that is to come, six letter word: FUTURE**

Years and years ago, Lisbon would make lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, pros-and-cons lists; lists about pretty much anything. They used to make her life easier, or so she had thought.

She has to come to a decision about her future and it's a good thing that eventually, she stopped making lists. If she still did, make lists, the pro's and cons this would make a rather short one.

Marcus is offering her everything and Jane is offering her nothing. That's not it, she reasons, for it's not nothing, just nothing that goes far beyond solving crimes together—the cozy status quo.

(The status quo has been her home for years)

Not a hell of a lot, obviously. A life on hold isn't enough for her, but—

But it's hard to be honest here.

She can start with the plain facts: Jane and her, they've been partners for a long time.

Lisbon won't start setting them off against each other, but obviously there have been good times and terrible times—and times she can't afford thinking of now.

But now Red John is gone and the facts have changed. It's not about the state they live in or the agency they work for, it's about them.

(They've build on red sand, but now, the sand under their feet is no longer red.)

Or it's not about them, for they don't _need_ to be partners in this world.

Which means that they don't _need_ each other anymore, right?

Catching bad guys has lost none of his importance, but they don't need to keep together. Jane and her, they can be a million miles away from each other and still close cases, still do something good.

Jane is Jane, he will always come up with hazaderous plans, and somebody will always be left in the dark til it's too late and have to fix the mess later. That's the deal with him and it's always going to be worth it.

A smile appears on Lisbons face and immediately disappears.

It's part of what she used to do, but it doesn't have to be her, she knows that. Abbott, Wylie, Fisher or even Cho, they will cover for Jane, with more or less enthusiasm .

In Cho's case, they're definitely talking about very little enthusiasm here, but they would manage.

Somebody new will be assigned to the team, probably a rookie, somebody who has just finished his or her training at Quantico.

A huge lump forms in her throat.

This is the part of the truth she can grant herself, the excuse that sounds good and convincing: It's a big decision and big decisions demand careful considerations.

If she sticks to the facts, if work is the point, she is duty bound to go to DC. The city where all wires convergence. Adjust to her new life, a new exciting job for her, new challenges, bigger cases and more resources, new opportunities, a whole new life. She can have it all.

All she has to do is leave a few people behind, it's that easy. There's nothing remarkable or monumental to that, leaves and transfers, retirements and promotions are no big thing, they happen all the time.

And there is the truth Lisbon can't grant herself, the one that is confusing and complicated and probably wrong:

It is a big thing for _her_ and she just doesn't—

She doesn't feel ready.

But she should be, the offer is too attractive to leave it for no reason, and she has no reason not to be ready.

Nobody is putting obstacles in her way and worse, everybody is making it easy for her. Jane, Abbott, Cho: they all know that it's her life and therefore her decision.

 _(Jane.)_

Lisbon doesn't turn around, she doesn't look at the couch in her back, instead she stares on the empty board.

She should be ready, ready to say goodbye to things that were and things that weren't meant to be.

She should already be packing boxes.

And yet she hasn't packed a single one, hasn't she?

* * *

 **Pattern of tiny pieces, six letter word: MOSAIC**

' _I have so much of you in my heart'_ Jane reads from an edition of Keats poetry, before he claps the book shut and steps up to the window of the interrogation room. For obvious reasons, this is not really the kind of literature he is after these days.

Lisbon and Cho are in there, dealing with a suspect named Miller, who has no idea that they have him cold yet. The sound is muted, but it's not like Jane actually needs to hear to understand what's going on.

Lisbon leans forward, arms folded and she speaks. Millers face falls. Obviously somebody has just learned something ugly.

Jane smiles absent-mindedly, but Keats still echoes in his mind.

' _I have so much of you in my heart',_ he rattles once more.

It's a fine thought, a beautiful one, but it's incomplete, for not just his heart that is full of her; the same is true of his mind, of his memory palace.

He has called her translucent so many times, he has called her a terrible liar and he has claimed to know all her secrets. He has acted as the big shot and posed as Mr. Know-all, or in other words: He has done what he always does.

The proverbial whistling in the dark, for he is rendered completely and pathetically incompetent in her case.

(Sometimes he wonders if she ever believed him.)

Teresa Lisbon is still a mystery to him, even after all those years. For the life of him, he cannot figure her out.

Of course, there are things about her; little snippets he picked up throughout the time they have worked together; about her personal life, about the way her mind works. He has spent years furnishing her wagon in his memory palace; it's full or things she has said, various actions and many happy memories they have shared together, full of things he has learned about the person hiding under the hard veneer.

Things that made him love her. Things that make him want to see her happy, to protect her, to be _good_ for her sake; things that make the thought of losing her intolerable.

Facts and figures. Small stuff; songs she used to love, favorite Thai places, apples, coffee and clarinets, the scar on her right shoulder,

Then the bigger stuff, about justice, work ethics and determination. What being a cop means to her.

The question how she sees him is difficult to answer. Certainly as a colleague, a partner, a friend even, that she trusts him and that he manages to make her laugh even when she is determined to be angry at him. That sometimes, she thinks of him as a pain in the ass, a necessary evil because he closes cases.

(That she missed him when he was gone.)

Glimpses he caught of her life before they met, of the person the used to be. The Teresa that lost her mother when she was a girl, the one that raised three brothers and left them behind, the Teresa that ran away from a nice solid fiancée.

He had learned a lot about Teresa Lisbon, but never enough to give himself odds, nevermind good ones when trying to predict her actions or what goes on beneath the surface. .

And there are those aspects of her that he knows nothing about.

For example the Lisbon he wrote letters to, the Lisbon that ended up being sheriff in boring Canon River.

The Teresa that is with Marcus Pike now.

And what does Patrick mean to Teresa? Does he still matter or has his importance simply faded away?

Did she, does she, has she, would she, could she ever love him?

(Here's a secret he has never told anybody: the more he cares about a person, the more he needs to be sure about them, the less he can read them.)

Sometimes, he thinks he can only do her right if he waits for her to decide her future in silence and sometimes, he thinks he can only do her right if he at least tries to stop her. Tell her how he feels.

He wants what's best for her, of course he does. But he just doesn't know-

In the holding room, Lisbon gets up, takes her papers and leaves the room.

If one day, he found the courage and just told her how little he can predict her, how much that thrills, scares and amazes him, would she surprised?

At this point, Jane might even ask for a badge and a guide dog.

(Or for a Superhero costume)

* * *

 **Say something, five letter word: SPEAK**

Lisbon puts her phone away after she has agreed on a Tuesday night date with Pike, they ring the bell and they wait.

"What?" she asks, and it sounds like _What is wrong_ and like _Is there something you want to say?_

"Nothing," Jane answers, and what he really means is _Everything, everything is wrong_ and _How did this happen to us_ and _Do we really have to be like that?_

"Nothing,"he echoes _,_ like that could make it true, like repetition has stopped being the lowest form of repartee somewhere along the way.

State of being free from danger, six letter word: SAFETY

The hole is close to her heart, Lisbon detects later.

It means that the guy is a good shot and the result is that this takedown could easily have been her last; that is, had she not been wearing a bulletproof vest.

But she _has_ worn one, she isn't dead. Danger is part of the job, this is not the first time that somebody tried to shoot her and it won't be the last and there is no reason to waste thoughts on what could have been. These are the kind of thoughts that can drive you crazy and it's best to push them away as far as possible.

It's how Lisbon has always dealt with incidents like that.

The rules demand a medical check up from all agents that have been involved in a shooting and she gets it over and done immediately.

(And guess what: She's fine, of course she is.)

Later, in lobby, she runs into Jane.

Instead of greeting her, he goes straight for the jugular, "I heard about the shooting. You're all right?"

He has shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and for some odd reason it feels like Jane is deliberately hiding them. Just like he seems determined not to look at the damaged vest she has on herself because it needs to be fixed.

His voice is light and he wants to fool her into believing that he just wants to hear the story, but they have known each other a little too long for her to be fooled.

(And for some not so odd reason, that observation tugs at her heartstrings.)

"Oh, I'm great. Fine. No ribs broken, the doctor says. The vest looks a little worn out, but it had the harder job, so that's no wonder."

Lisbon bites her tongue. She shouldn't have said that, she realizes once she has. Apparently, obviously even, it's neither the right time nor the right place for this kind of talk. It's not just the tightening of his jaw line or the faint expression on his face that is quickly replaced by a smile, or the sharp pain in her side, that shows, it's something else.

(But why should she apologize?)

Her phone rings.

"You should take that," Jane advises "It's probably Pike, I'm sure he wants to make sure you're all right."

He starts walking the stairs again and, after a few steps just when she has picked up her phone, he adds something.

"He isn't the only one, you know."

* * *

 **Covering all cases, seven letter word: BLANKET**

It has been a memorable day, Jane thinks as he makes himself comfortable on the strange couch. That one is too new and therefore nowhere near as comfortable as his own one, but it'll do for the night.

The crowd is gone and he enjoys himself with a look back at which his fake art-thief personality would probably call a fabulous day.

Full of fun and games, a great show, he's pulling all the strings and his plan works like magic. (Well, of course it does.)

And then his undercover girlfriend gets down the stairs and covers him with a blanket.

Lisbon's barefoot, she looks adorable and he can't even recall how often he got to see her legs like that.

Jane pretends to be asleep , while he sneaks a glance at her and his heartbeat immediately accelerates.

It seems to be a logical idea, easy and risk free (and later, he'll have plenty of days and nights to regret this poor showing).

Jane will try something later, he decides.

Stretch the boundaries a little, try to get a little closer. When he is ready for all eventualities, when the dice are loaded and he can give himself long odds. When he has a plan, when he has span his safety net and made sure that there's a double bottom.

The yellow rose of Texas will be the first step and there's no need to hurry or risk losing what they have, for time is on their side now.

He'll think of something subtle and the thought makes him smile and his heart beat a little faster with anticipation.

And then, Marcus Pike simply goes without subtleness and takes Lisbon away and Jane stays on his couch, alone and beaten.

It's the moment when he realizes that sometimes, it is true what they say about time and tide.

* * *

 **Apparently having ESP, seven letter word: PSYCHIC**

Of all people, Abbott is the one to ask about the elephant in the room. The office gossip has reached him and he wants to know if she'll be going to DC with Marcus.

And worse, he wants to know what Jane has to say about that.

And Lisbon smiles and shifts from one foot to the other and can't wait to escape.

(She could tell him that it's funny how her life seems to revolve around that kind of questions these days.)

"He is Jane. Of course he knows. Remember, Jane is a psychic," she lies, like she doesn't know that there's no such thing as psychics and that she is being unfair.

(Sometimes she needs to)

* * *

 **Where the heart is, four letter word: HOME**

Lisbon looks listlessly at the glossy prints. Fittings, legions of furniture of every form, color and price. Five more catalogues pile up on the coffee table in front of her.

Marcus left those here before he drove ahead to DC, " _just in case she has a spare minute or two, to look at them, she might find something to adorn their home"._

And she has found a minute or two, she just hasn't found anything likeable so far. There's always been something putting her off, something feeling just not right.

She has ranked furniture as too expensive or too ugly, as unable to go together with the rest of the interior or simply as looking too uncomfortable. Every single one.

And she knows the mathematical odds for that being true of every single one, which means that—

That she's just not in the mood. Stressed out, grumpy, tired something like that.

After all, it's not like Lisbon doesn't know how to do this, it's not the first time she's shopped for furniture, and it's not even the first time she's looked for nice furniture.

It's not the first time she has tried to build up a home.

For years, a place providing the bare essentials has been just right for her. A bed (used mostly for passing out after work), a bathroom, a TV and a kitchen (for gulping down her food before heading off to work or falling asleep), that's pretty much all she wanted, all she needed. She had never put any effort into those places because there had simply been no point in doing so; she had never indented to spent much time there and even if she had wanted to, she wouldn't have been able to. Day and night, there had always been work, always been crime scenes to go to and cases to work on.

Until that day, when the world had been turned upside down.

Lisbon leans back, closes her eyes and recalls thinking about a home for the last (and admittedly for the first time): it had been in a messy living room in Canon River, in the aftermath of one of the bigger cases they had been closing then. (And "cases" had been nothing but a poor euphemism them, and she had never stopped using it, probably because it had reminded her so much of _before_.)

A little boy had gotten lost on a school field trip into the forest and they had found him and brought him back to his parents. Public relations had been part of the job, so they had accepted the invitation to come inside.

She had spent worse afternoons.

The living room had been messy, but in a nice way. Cozy and warm, the walls adorned with photos, drawings and cuttings from the local newspaper. There had been piles of books, children's and dogs toys on the floor and she remembers noticing that this place was probably that way because people actually lived here, not because they were sloppy.

And then, sometime later, the thought had been there: I _t would be nice to have something like that._

A place to actually spend time at, because she wants to do that, not because she is too tired to be somewhere else.

A place to wind down at, a place to receive visits. A safe harbor.

A place of her own.

A _home._

She had known she wouldn't stop being the Sheriff of Canon River any time soon, so she had started settling.

So she has had that home.

 _Home is where the heart is,_ people say. Her heart had never been there, but it had been a good enough place.

And then, Jane came back. And she had left her home in Canon River, never looking back and never missing it.

And now, she is going to leave Austin and she will build a new home in DC.

It's that easy, right?

* * *

 **No amount at all, seven letter word: NOTHING**

Lisbon has just finished marking another box when her phone rings. It's Van Pelt –Grace—, she calls to chat and she wants to know how things are going in Austin.

Lisbon tells her. Her friend is thrilled, curious, she asks a couple of the usual questions and then, she suddenly hesitates.

Instincts can be the worst, Lisbon states. She's doesn't have the skills Jane has, but she knows that the next question will be less pleasant to answer anyway.

So she waits for the inevitable.

 _(Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three._ Here it comes:)

"But what about you two, boss?" Grace blurts out "What happened between you and Jane, I mean?"

Lisbon closes her eyes and absent-mindedly she reaches for her cross pendant.

 _Of course._

(Sometimes, sometimes she almost forgets that they are all cops and that they have known each other for ages.)

She swallows hard, clears her throat and then she manages to say something appropriate.

"Nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing needed to, really, I'm just moving to DC and—

She flies off on a tangent, then and later, long after they have said their goodbyes, Lisbon will realize that she did a poor job, that she should have said something else, something like 'What has Jane got to do with anything?'

(And somehow, she forgot to correct Grace about not being her boss anymore for the first time ever.)

* * *

 _Then there will be delayed planes, fences, interrogation rooms and the right words that are being said almost too late._

 _There will be two hearts on the line, it will be about staking everything on one card, being embarrassing and making speedy decisions, it will be about courage, the truth and love._

 _And everything is going to be so much better than just good._

" _There's something I need to say."_


End file.
